


Healing the Healer

by blueelvewithwings, emotionalmorphine, Green_Sphynx



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Fenders Telephone Game, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 16:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10597521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueelvewithwings/pseuds/blueelvewithwings, https://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionalmorphine/pseuds/emotionalmorphine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Sphynx/pseuds/Green_Sphynx
Summary: A healer's job is very clear. But what happens when the healer gets sick? A secret admirer just might be revealed...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This collaboration fic is part of the Fenders Telephone Game Challenge 2017.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by Green_Sphynx.

There was very little quite as disconcerting as finding your healer barely conscious and wobbling, visibly suffering quite the fever. Even Fenris could tell that much from the bright flush and the way Anders had himself wrapped in ratty, sweat soaked blankets.

“I… suppose we won’t be taking Anders along to fight bandits and bloodmages in Lowtown tonight.” Hawke grabbed the mage’s shoulders to steer him towards the back where the man had his cot, and Fenris had to bite his tongue not to stop them. He didn’t like the idea of Anders being sick down here by himself, he’d much prefer taking the mage up to Hightown and let him sleep somewhere safe. Like his bed.

Only he could not just come out and say that in front of Hawke and |sabela. As a matter of fact, he doubted he could even say that in front of the mage himself. Their stalemate had been nothing if not hesitant, so far. Fenris honestly doubted Anders was very eager to be vulnerable and close to him yet. This need to take care of him… well, Fenris knew what it was, even if he didn’t like it much. He knew he’d slowly but certainly fallen for the mage. But Anders did not know that, and Fenris doubted his feelings would be returned. If he took care of the mage in his sickness now, Anders would more likely think it was repaying the favour of healing than anything personal.

Even if it was entirely personal.

So Fenris bit his tongue and studied the bottom of his foot to see what gunk he’d stepped in earlier on the stairs here, making sure Isabela could not try read things from his face she was not supposed to see. The evasion tactics worked as well as always and when Hawke dragged them off to find Merrill instead, nobody was any wiser about the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach about leaving the mage to his own devices.

Yes, Anders was perfectly capable of taking care of himself… but he was  _sick._ The mage, their  _Spirit Healer_ , was  _sick_ . And not healing himself.

It made Fenris’ stomach churn, and if he wasn’t well aware that these were his body’s histrionics over being in love, he’d worry he was coming down with something himself.

Still, he had no business staying behind with Anders. No business that wouldn’t have Isabela hooting and Hawke leering at him suspiciously, anyway. Hawke would not let him stay, not quite aware that Anders and Fenris were no longer at each other’s throat. Isabela would just start giving him hints on how to get fuck the mage - and that may actually be worse than Hawke’s distrust, in this case. As if he was about to take sexual advantage of a man who was barely lucid in his fever.

So he followed, uncomfortable as he was, and merely decided to excuse himself as soon as Hawke would let him. Possibly when Merrill used her blood magic in the middle of Kirkwall again; that always made a splendid excuse to turn tail and hurry away. None of them were comfortable when she did that, and Fenris had all the more reason. Luckily, Hawke tended to respect that.

It had to be just his luck that tonight, Merrill didn’t seem too eager to use her blood magic. It turned out to be Isabela’s doing, trying to keep her ‘kitten’ safe.

Fenris cursed under his breath when he found out, kicking the corpse of a blood mage over to wipe his sword on the woman’s robes.

“You’re kinda jumpy tonight, Fen.”

Fenris grunted non-committally, but that would not get Hawke off his case, naturally.

“Did you get hit by something? Blood mage got a spell on you in?” The burly man stood in front of him, grabbing his shoulders to force him up straight before patting Fenris down.

It was a habit that had irritated Fenris endlessly at the start, but by now he just rolled his eyes at the man’s antics. Partly because he’d proven Hawke right to physically check him in the past, pretending to be alright to avoid Anders’ magical touch. It was a long time ago, but Hawke was the type to remember every slight.

“I am fine, Hawke. Just… distracted.”

“Do you need to talk?” The man’s hands ended up resting on his upper arms, and Hawke was frowning in concern.

Fenris actually considered it for a moment. Opening up to Hawke had been good in the past, but he’d only spoken about Danarius. About what had happened before. Never about what was going on in the present.

And as mentioned - Hawke remembered  _every_ slight. Fenris didn’t quite dare confess his feelings for Anders had grown from ‘I hate that abomination’ to ‘I want to take care of that fool of a mage’.

“Maybe some other time,” he finally conceded, and Hawke gave him a nod in understanding.

“Do you want to keep tagging along? Or would you rather go home early?”

Fenris blinked at the man in surprise, taken off guard by the opportunity being handed on the proverbial silver platter. A rather bloody silver platter with a lot of black hair on his face, but a silver platter nonetheless.

“You will be a warrior short if I go home now.”

“I can handle things myself. We’ll drop by the Hanged Man to pick up Varric and the four of us will be fine even without you.” Hawke patted his arms before finally stepping back. “Go home, Fenris. Feel better. Be there for card night tomorrow or I’ll come drag you there.”

“I would never miss card night, Hawke.” He chuckled while sheathing his sword, giving Hawke a grateful nod before turning and leaving. In the direction Hightown, for Hawke’s ease of mind. He couldn’t help he’d be down the lift to Darktown before heading home first.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by emotionalmorphine.

Fenris was smart enough to take an opportunity when it so presented itself. He left Hawke and his band and headed off. He didn’t head straight for Darktown. Hawke would question him, so it meant taking the long way around through Lowtown and down to the Docks first.

Fenris was lucky that he looked intimidating enough that no one bothered him on the streets. Even racist nobles looking to have some drunken fun kept their distance from him when they saw the large sword he carried on his back. And if a gang was stupid enough to try take him on, Fenris quickly dispatched them. Word got around to avoid the glowing elf with the large sword.

Darktown was its general gloomy, desolate self and Fenris ignored the searching hands and begging voices. He had nothing to give even if he wanted to hand over his hard-earned coin. He was only worried about one person tonight. At the doors to the Darktown clinic a line had formed, with groaning men and women, and sobbing children. The doors, however, were closed and the lantern unlit. At least the Mage had been smart enough not to try open his clinic.

Of course, the Mage generally worked himself to exhaustion so if the clinic doors were closed something must be seriously wrong.

Fenris pushed through the crowd with minimal complaints. Some recognized him as a friend of Hawke and whispers swept through the crowd. When Fenris phased his hand through the door, the whispers stopped.

“Leave,” Fenris said as he unlocked the door from inside. “The healer will not be seeing anyone tonight.”

“But my son–!”

“Leave!” Fenris snapped. He was met with silence as he cracked open the doors and slipped inside. He would not stand around arguing with these people.

Whether the crowd left or not, Fenris had no idea, as his attention was immediately turned to the Mage, on the floor in a heap.

“Kaffas,” Fenris said. He locked the door behind him and hurried over to the Mage’s unconscious body. He was breathing but covered in sweat, his hair clinging to his face and neck. He smelled sick, that sour, stale smell that permeated the skin.

Anders groaned but didn’t wake.

No one was here to judge Fenris’ actions. No one to laugh or make innuendo, no one to question or worry, just him and Anders. Fenris unsheathed his sword and set it on one of the cots and then turned back to the Mage. He weighed nothing as Fenris lifted him from the floor. A slight breeze could knock him over by the feel of him.

Fenris had seen the poor excuse of a bed the Mage slept in, and honestly the cots in the clinic were cleaner and likely more comfortable, so Fenris hefted him onto one of the cots. It took more wrestling than he wanted to admit to remove Anders’ coat and boots. His tunic was wet with sweat so Fenris removed that, as well, and then covered him with a blanket. The blanket was definitely cleaner than the one Anders slept with at night.

The Mage stirred again and Fenris whipped around to look at him. Bleary eyes cracked open, trying to make sense of his new surroundings.

“Mage.” Fenris leaned over him and Anders looked up at him.

“Fenris…?” Anders’ voice was croaky and strained.

“You are sick. You need to heal yourself.”

It took a moment for Anders to process what was being said to him. Fenris could see him trying to understand the words. He looked up again, a frown between his brows. “Can’t,” Anders said. “Just the flu.”

Fenris didn’t understand the intricacies of magic and he didn’t exactly want to, but he had thought anything could be cured by healing magic. “Then what is to be done?”

Anders groaned and reached for his head. His hand was uncooperative and Fenris had to grab him by the wrist to stop him from smacking himself in the face. Fenris felt the flare of magic, his brands humming. A headache, Fenris knew, could be cured by magic. It seemed to ease the lines of pain from Anders’ face.

“Need to sleep…” Anders said, his eyes falling closed once more. “Nothing else…”

Fenris carefully lowered Anders’ hand but didn’t let go of his wrist. “Then I will stay.”

Fenris was surprised Anders didn’t stare up at him in shock. They weren’t exactly friends. Fenris realized that his budding feelings were ridiculous. Nothing could come of such a thing but the feelings were there and he hadn’t been able to stop them growing in his chest. Seeing the mage now, sickly and weak and in need of help, made his chest tighten.

Anders made a noncommittal noise and then there was silence. He had slipped back into sleep, his headache now cured giving him at least some relief. He was still burning up, still sweating, still sick, and there was no one to guide Fenris. He had never looked after someone sick. He could not even remember getting sick himself. All he had was secondhand knowledge and assumptions.

Right now he believed the most important thing was the break the fever and keep Anders’ temperature down.

There was a pump in the Darktown clinic, a luxury down here, and Fenris poured a dish of water. It wasn’t exactly cool but it wasn’t warm and it would suffice. Anders barely moved when Fenris placed the cool rag on his forehead, but after a moment he released a pleased sigh.

Fenris spent the next hours at Anders’ side changing the damp cloth when it dried and checking the Mage’s temperature. He knew enough to not let Anders get cold, either, so he pulled the lightweight blanket up to his waist. It was silent in the clinic except for the sound of their breaths and somewhere, dripping and flowing water.

Fenris looked at Anders’ face. He was a handsome man, even more so when he took some time with his appearance. But Fenris had noticed that his personage had become less and less important as the demands of his demon pressed him. Anders worked longer hours, always seemed to be thinking of his cause. Fenris could not believe that his…spirit…was wholly benign.  
Justice was going to kill Anders.

Fenris took Anders’ hand. It was still overly warm, but his fingers twitched when Fenris touched him. It made Fenris’ chest ache again.

For hours, he sat there. There wasn’t much else he could do except watch Anders and change the rag on his forehead. Several times he wiped down Anders’ arms, his neck and chest, cleaning away the sweat and helping to bring down his temperature. By the time the sun was coming up, Fenris could feel his eyelids drooping. Exhaustion was beginning to set in. Anders was sleeping more peacefully than he had been hours before. So Fenris dragged a more comfortable chair than the stool he had been sitting on over to the side of the cot.

“—nris…”

Fenris groaned.

“Fenris…”

His eyes snapped open and he looked up. Anders was looking at him. His eyes were less blurry, his skin less pale and sick looking. Yet not healthy. Fenris stood and came to Anders’ bedside.  
“Water?” Anders asked, his voice breaking around the sounds.

“Of course.” Fenris had to help Anders drink, the Mage’s hand unsteady as it closed around the mug. There was something that unsettled Fenris about the Mage being sick. He had thought magic could cure any illness or injury. But magic was not limitless and even a powerful mage like Anders got sick now and then.

“You stayed,” Anders said, looking up at Fenris when he finished his drink.

Fenris glanced at the floor, wiggling his toes in the dirt. “I was not prepared to leave you.”

“Why did you even come?”

Now, that was a question Fenris couldn’t really answer. I was worried about you? I am interested in your health? My chest felt tight when I thought of you alone and sick?

“Fenris?” Anders ducked his head, trying to look Fenris in the eye.

“Hawke was prepared to leave you… I did not want—I was—I was concerned.”

A small smile broke Anders’ face, lips curling upwards and a certain sparkle hitting his eyes, making them look clearer and brighter. “For me?”

“I know that it is hard to understand.”

“Not so hard. I would worry the same for you, y’know.”

Fenris looked up, surprised. “Because you are a healer,” he said.

“No. Because I would be worried about you.” Anders smiled again until a cough tightened his throat. He coughed harshly, and Fenris placed his hand on Anders’ back.

“You still need more rest,” Fenris said.

“I’m rather slept out. Perhaps…we could just talk for a while?” Anders asked.

“Talk?”

“Yes…I’d like to talk to you without yelling for once.”

“You are so easy to yell at,” Fenris said. Anders frowned at him before they both smiled.

The silence stretched for a moment before Fenris spoke, “I was worried when I found you on the floor.”

“I’m not sure what happened. I remember cleaning up and then nothing until I saw you.”

“You push yourself too hard.”

Anders pursed his lips. He obviously knew that and he wasn’t trying to argue – at least not with Fenris.

“I wanted to stay this afternoon when I left with Hawke. I should have stayed.”

Ander curled his hands into the blanket at his waist. “What are you saying, Fenris?”

Fenris took a deep breath. “I am trying to say that I—”  
Three loud bangs on the door interrupted them. The doors then swung open and Isabela crowed happily at having picked the lock. Hawke peered his head into the clinic and saw them both sitting. “There you two are!”

“Hawke was beside himself when he went to meet you this morning, Fenris,” Isabela said. She looked between Anders and Fenris and grinned. “He should have guessed you would be here.”

“Why _are_ you here?” Hawke asked, scratching his head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by blueelvewithwings

Anders let out a long suffering sigh even the moment before his door was kicked open. Isabela had a habit of entering the clinic like this, so he was not even surprised anymore. That she brought Hawke though could only mean trouble. Why else would they both come to talk to him?

„It's not really any of your business what he is doing here, is it?“ he asked, but he already knew that they would sstill end up talking about it. Nothing stayed secret from Hawke for a long time.

„I came simply because I was concerned for the mage.“ Fenris stood and looked at the other two, standing in front of Anders almost protectively.

„He is ill and cannot heal himself. You cannot take him away now. I will not allow it.“

Anders let out a little chuckle and shook his head. „It's only the flue. It will be gone again in no time. I can still go out and be of help.“ He was already mostly out of bed when he found himself pinned to the mattress again by a strong arm ending in a gauntlet-clad hand. „You will not. You will not leave the bed and the clinic until you are well again.“ Anders looked at Fenris, and he had to remember just a few moments before, when Fenris had said that he was concerned for the mage. Could it be true? Could Fenris really be concerned for him?

There was a little chuckle and then the mattress dipped and Isabela was leaning over, looking at them. „Bossy, huh? I have heard that our resident healer enjoys his partners being bossy... is there something going on between the two of you? Something wicked and naughty?“ Her smile in itself was just about as wicked as the thoughts she seemed to be having, and Anders gave a weak snort.

„Fenris found me passed out with a fever on the floor of my clinic. Hardly a good time for wicked and naughty things, don't you think?“

He liked Isabela, and everyone knew that he had a near reverent adoration for Hawke, but in this moment he just wished they would both leave. He wanted to be with Fenris again, to go back to talking, just being with the elf and being civil together. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea that Fenris was insisiting he stay in bed... that way Hawke and Isabela would have to go looking for someone else, and if they also convinced them that Fenris needed to stay with Anders they would be alone again and free to talk....

Just as he opened his mouth to try and shoo the other two away, a wave of nausea rolled over him and he started retching. There was a bucket being pushed in his arms – probably curtesy of Fenris- and he emptied out his stomach into it. He should have known, really, that that would be a great way to go about things, as both Hawke and Isabela looked a bit queasy and eager to get away all of a sudden.

Anders gave Fenris a grateful smile and a nod, and as the elf went to clean out the bucket, Hawke and Isabela took that as their cue to leave, mumbling something about not wanting to get sick and having some things to do. The mage closed his eyes and let himself slump back into his pillow, allowing himself a small smile when Fenris came back with a cup of water and a rag to wipe his face with. He had to admit that the elf could be very patient and helpful if he wanted to be.

„Thank you“ he murmured and took the cup, using the water to rinse his mouth.

„So... how come you are concerned for me? You don't usually give me the feeling like you care overly much for my wellbeing.“

Fenris suddenly seemed to be rather uncomfortable in his skin, and somehow Anders assumed that it was only due to his long years of training as a slave that he wasn't squirming and winding on the spot right then and there.

„I might not have given you the impression, but I have... come to care for you, mage.“ Fenris spoke, but he wasn't looking at Anders as he said so, just looking anywhere but him.

Anders sat up, ignoring the slightly dizzy feeling in his head as he did so, and blinked a little. „You might want to repeat that. I think I heard you were saying you had come to care for me? It must be the fever speaking.“

„Do not tease me for it, mage.“ Fenris looked at him now, and Anders could almost feel his walls going back up. He sighed and reached out, placing an arm on Fenris' hand.

„I'm not. I simply find it hard to believe. That you would care for me... a mage, an apostate. Someone who can't even take care of himself, apparently.“ _Someone unworthy of being loved._

Fenris tilted his head a little and watched him before his lips twitched to form a tiny smile for the fraction of a second. It was a very handsome smile.

„You find it hard to believe that I have come to care for the one who fights for the oppressed? The one who heals everyone regardless of who it is? The one who puts everyone else in front of him? The one who still puts milk out everynight for the cats even though he can hardly afford it? The one who sometimes still calls for his mother in a nightmare, or for Karl?“

The smile was a little wider now and Fenris' hand was gentle as it carded through Anders' hair, mindful of the gauntlet he wore and the possibility of it catching on the blond strands.

„I do not find it hard to believe at all. My mage.“

Anders returned his smile, feeling himself blush, and for once, he was at a loss as to what to say. It was not often that he was rendered speechless, but Fenris had made a thorough job of it. In the end, he decided to shuffle over and lean his head against a sadly breastplated chest.

„You know, I would kiss you right now, but then you will fall ill. And I would rather not be blamed for you feeling unwell.I do not wish to be pushed out of your good graces again quite so soon.“

There was a little chuckle above him, and then something in his hair.. Fenris' lips?

„You wish to kiss me, mage?“

„Of course. I mean, have you ever looked inside a mirror? All that brooding handsomeness...“ He tilted his head back and sent a teasing wink up to the elf. But then he shrugged and gave a little sigh.

„I have always been fascinated by you, even though we disagreed from the start. You are one of Hawke's companions, and thus important to me. I don't know... will you give me some time? Just... talk, spend time together? I think maybe we both need to see behind the masks that we have taken to wearing. And then I think I can see myself growing to care for you as well, Fenris. I just. I don't want to make you any promises yet. It is too early.“

He shuffled again, laying himself back down, but holding one corner of the blanket up.

„But if you take off your armour, I can invite you in my bed already. For strictly platonic cuddles, of course. Snuggling is the best medicine against the flu.“

It did not surprise him when just a few moments later a warm elf slid in his bed and firmly muscled arms wrapped around his torso as his head was tucked under a lyrium-lined chin.

„Sleep now and get well, my mage. We will talk more when you wake again.“

 


End file.
